


Stopping in Darwin

by voksen



Category: Highlander - All Media Types
Genre: Comment Fic, Gen, Post-Canon, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-04
Updated: 2009-06-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:36:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voksen/pseuds/voksen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: "road trip"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stopping in Darwin

It's a long way from New York to Seacouver, especially by car, and it seems double that when the car is a U-Haul packed to the gills with artifacts, both priceless and worthless, and two Immortals.

It doesn't help that Duncan isn't feeling talkative; he had hoped that burying Connor would have given him some kind of closure, and it had - some. Coming back to the States, to the City, had been hard enough. Going through Connor's things, the lockup he'd kept even through the last ten years of hell, had been like picking at a wound and keeping it raw and open.

Without Methos's help (unasked for and unexplained) it would have taken far longer to get everything packed up. The old man had turned out to have a gift for packing almost equal to his knack for disappearing, and why not? Duncan imagines he's probably done exactly this often enough, though probably more often with wagons than orange and white trucks. Dead friends are dead friends either way.

For once - or so it feels like, though maybe he's being uncharitable - Methos doesn't press too hard; he talks sometimes, seems to have a sixth sense for when Duncan needs silence, doesn't expect Duncan to break out of his mood instantly, doesn't quote platitudes about living and growing stronger. They take turns driving and sleeping by unspoken agreement; Duncan wants to get _home_ again, to use Seacouver and his own memories to help him bear Connor's. He's not sure why Methos does; maybe he's just humoring him.

All the way through Indiana and Wisconsin, Duncan can't sleep; he stares out the window through mostly-closed eyes, pretending to rest as Methos drives along the empty highway and occasionally hums tunelessly to himself. As they're almost to the tip of Lake Superior, he thinks about Kane, about all the power he'd taken; about that first day he'd met Methos, years ago, now; about the way Methos's quickening had shivered through his bones like laughter. He wonders what he feels like now, to Methos, whether he's still too important to lose, whether the alternative is still unthinkable; he falls asleep as they cross into Minnesota, and dreams of beer and walkmans and shy graduate students, of happiness and lies.

When he wakes up, the sun stabs into his eyes - it's late afternoon and the truck is stopped. He looks to his left; Methos is twisted up in the driver's seat, sleeping with one hand on the case of his sword, the other pillowing his head. Duncan's first thought is that it looks hideously uncomfortable, but Methos's expression is peaceful enough. He can't even be annoyed that Methos didn't wake him up to take over driving, after how long he'd slept.

He's awake now, though, and strangely, banally hungry. Methos doesn't stir as he opens the cab door and slips out, locking it behind him before he sets off. It's a tiny little town, but there are a few shops on the road and - he blinks, then glances over his shoulder at the truck with a slow, reluctant, _genuine_ smile - the home of the biggest ball of twine in the world. Only Methos, he thinks, only Methos.

Eventually, he brings a bag of prepackaged snack food and two gas station coffees back to the truck; Methos wakes when he knocks on the door, taking his coffee and sipping it almost gratefully. "This is terrible," he informs Duncan. "What did they make it with, oil?" There's another question in his eyes, though, something Duncan might interpret as _will you be alright_ , though he already knows the dangers inherent in trying to understand Methos.

"Twine, probably," Duncan answers, leaning against the side of the truck and trying to make his eyes as eloquent as Methos's; some things, he's beginning to understand, are worth the risk and the pain, especially when they're given freely. "Come on, get out. My turn to drive."


End file.
